Up to You

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Her long, pianist’s fingers were stroking my labia. Her mouth covered mine and we were dancing as the band played a number we loved. The crowd effectively concealed our lovemaking and the fact my skirt buttoned from waist to knee meant one button popped and she was in. She loved that. I didn’t think it was too shabby either although it had taken me a while to get over the ‘almost-exhibitionist’ thing that Val loved. Her fingers were slowly bringing me off which is what she wanted; she loved me to cum when we danced and then, when we got home, it was my turn to get her off. She simply loved having to wait for her orgasm. She held me as it washed over me and I groaned and sighed an orgasm into her ear.“Fuck,” she said. “That’s so, so hot. If I were wearing any knickers, they’d be sodden. Bet you can’t wait to get your tongue down there, can you?”Val was really talented. She played violin and piano and seemed to be in work most of the time doing session work and quite often theatre pit orchestra stuff. She was also hot and my girlfriend. Thanks to her I got to see loads of shows and gigs and meet up with her friends and colleagues. They were a bohemian crowd and for someone from a very reserved background, they were intoxicating company. Her work often took her away, sometimes for weeks if it was a tour but I was able to get to her sometimes. Her groupie, she called me. They tended to stay in cheap guest houses and often to share rooms and I never asked what went on because, well, Val didn’t like questions.“Trust me or leave me. Up to you.”I caught the train from Bristol to Manchester late one afternoon. I’d finished work (librarian – I know, boring but it was a stepping-stone to being an archivist which Val thought would be like a slow death but it was my thing) and got a cab to the pub where she’d told me to meet her. They’d had a matinee performance that Saturday and were between shows. They were doing Chicago which is one of my favourites and Val loved it too so I hoped she’d be in a good mood. She was. They all were and it always surprised me how musicians, especially brass sections seemed to be able to get as drunk as you like and still perform.As I arrived at the Escort ankara pub, rucksack on my arm, I saw Val’s back at the bar. She was talking to a very tall blonde (Val’s hair was, for a while anyway, blue) and the blonde looked up at me and tapped Val’s shoulder. Turning, smiling warmly, she broke away from her colleague to greet me with a big hug, a kiss and a stroke of my face.“Rhonda, this is my bird, Cass. Cass, meet Rhonda, room-mate and trombonist.” We did the hi, nice to meet you stuff and I joined the conversation as much as I could. Rhonda was aloof and I got the impression she was not best pleased that I’d turned up but what did I know? She was rather too good looking for my comfort and her body was basically long legs, fabulous tits and a face that could launch a spaceship without fuel. Okay, I confess she was hot but to know she was my woman’s room-mate was not comforting to a lonely librarian. Why couldn’t Val have pretended she was sharing with the drummer who looked like a lumpy mattress with acne?We went to the theatre and I had a great seat and could actually see my woman which wasn’t always easy. She was keyboard for this gig. I could also see and hear the trombonist and I wasn’t entirely pleased about that. Do I sound insecure? Too fucking true.More drinks after the show and then to a night club near Canal Street where some wag had removed the C from the street sign in a quiet acknowledgement of the area’s gay concentration and into the club where we danced and, as I described earlier, I orgasmed quietly into her ear.“Can we go back to your digs now?”“One more beer first.” Right, whatever.Rhonda was sitting at our table, leaning back superciliously in her chair, those fucking amazing legs crossed and a sort of constant sneer on her face.“Rhonda’s a brilliant musician.”“You all are.”Val kissed my ear. “Of course we are, but she can play almost any brass instrument, can’t you?” Why did I feel like she was sort of proud of Rhonda?She, Rhonda, leaned forward and said as quietly as the circumstances allowed and, it seemed to me, directly AT me, “The only thing I don’t blow,” dramatic pause, “is men.” Then she leant back Balgat escort with a satisfied look on her face and she fucking knew I hated her and I knew she hated me. Which probably meant she was fucking Val when I wasn’t around. Thank God, she’d agreed to change rooms for the night.“Trust me or leave me. Up to you.”We got back to the grizzly guest house about 3 in the morning. I was exhausted and both of us were drunk. I just wanted to sleep but needless to say, Val wasn’t having that so it was a quick strip for Val as she pulled off her black jeans and sat on the edge of the bed while I knelt between her feet and buried my face in her cunt and tongued her. She had that all-day taste and her hands were in my hair as her excitement, that had been boiling all evening, welled up and she held it back as long as she could, enjoying the anticipation and the sheer power of it until she came, messy and loud. We went straight to sleep, too tired now to shower and anyway she loved being dirty in bed – in more ways than one.In the morning we made love. The night before had been a release for her, a fast release just as Val needs but this was making love and I felt my insecurities evaporate as we stroked and kissed and ground our bodies together. We showered together in the small cubicle in the room’s corner and that was fun because it was barely big enough for one, never mind two and I may have cum when she washed me. No, I did cum and she did too which was nice. Our day was spent in bed. With Val working evenings and clubbing until the small hours her days were her sleep time. Not that there was a lot of sleeping.I trained back to the South West and resumed my life as a librarian. Every moment that I wasn’t busy I was seeing Val and Rhonda sharing that room. I saw Val watching Rhonda undress. I saw her, them both.“Trust me or leave me. Up to you.”Have you ever had an earworm? When a song or a phrase won’t let you go? That was mine. “Up to you.”It was the message from a phone I didn’t recognise that did it. A selfie of a woman who couldn’t have been anyone but Rhonda despite her face being side on. The angle of the picture suggested it had been Batıkent escort bayan taken using one of those phone pole things. Her tits were in glorious profile and, even to my eye and despite my loathing the cow there was no denying how bloody marvellous they were. There was also no denying the blue hair on the head between her thighs. I cried. By that I mean I cried a cataract of tears and it would stop and then restart until I simply had no tears left. Then I’d sleep and then cry some more. I should have deleted the picture but I kept looking at it, tormenting myself and crying again.So, I left her. There was nothing else I could do. I packed up my stuff and went back to live in my own home.Now, here’s a thing. When I am in a relationship, I’m faithful. My life has been a succession of cycles. The faithful-commitment cycle, the post commitment promiscuous cycle and the post promiscuity celibate cycle where I get fed up with feeling disgusted with myself and vow never to have sex again. I embarked on the promiscuous cycle about a week after I’d left Val. It was glorious liberation, like going on a drinking spree after being denied for a long time. I went to bars, clubs, anywhere where gay women hang out in my city or a nearby, bigger city. I had quite a few one-night stands. One stands out.She was Asian, a little heavy for her height which was only an inch or so taller than I but she was deliciously butch (I have phases where butch really does it for me). Her hair was short and black. She wore a pair of well-cut trousers and a white silk shirt with black oxfords on her feet. I was in pale blue, a short dress with sheer sleeves and a sheer v-shaped panel in the bodice. I had tied my hair back and my legs were bare. I noticed her as soon as I walked in. She was with a group of three other butch girls, they being more what I think of as ‘rough-butch.’ She had class. I caught her looking at me a few times and pretended on the first occasion that I hadn’t but on the second I gave a small smile before turning back to the bar and ordering myself a gin and tonic. She came over and did a bit of space-invading in pretence at getting to the bar so I shuffled aside, smiling at her and let her through. She turned so she was facing me.“Thanks. Have I seen you here before?”“No, I doubt it.” She offered her hand and I took it and in that instant, we both knew what was going to happen. This was the moment I craved and would later despise myself for. I told her my name.

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